Saturday, 30 June 2007

Over the years I have been plagued by anorexia. I'm not sure exactly when it first started but I usually pin it down to the time when I was 16 that Peter G, a guy on whom I had had the most enormous crush since my first day at senior school, told me I had an enormous arse! Now, bearing in mind, that at just over 5 ft and weighing in at about 8.5 stone, enormous was not a word that could truly be applied to any part of my anatomy. I should have just put it down to the fact that the cut of the school trousers probably wasn't flattering that particular asset and ignored him.

I was always a skinny child. My dad would hug me and call me his 'stick insect'. I wasn't hugely confident but I always had friends and, whilst not one of the class stars at school, I was a big part of the main bunch. I had an acceptable number of boyfriends to kiss but Peter G was the guy I adored. When I was 13, we were at a party and a group of us left for a while to hang out in the local park. Peter G seemed quite interested in me. He put his hand in my bra. Sadly, I was a very late developer, much to my intense chagrin as Little Sis had had 32Bs at age 10 whereas at 13, I was struggling to fill an A cup. Peter G didn't seem very impressed. We were sat on the roundabout for some reason. On those struts that go across for you to hold on to. I remember clear as day across all those years my shame as he put his hand down my trousers and groped around. It was horrible. I hated it. But it was Peter G and I would have done anything for him. I so desperately wanted to love him. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do in response. It certainly wasn't a very pleasurable experience! Eventually he got bored, removed his hand and started chatting about something else. I was mortified. I must have done something wrong. Some weeks later he started dating a girl in the year above us who was even skinnier than me. Their liaison continued for the rest of our time at school and, despite my doe-eyed devotion, he didn't look at me again until we were at college. He kissed me and groped me again (in a tent and in his bedroom as I recall) but, with hindsight, there was no spark between us so I'm not quite sure why I still carry a torch for him to this day.

I had one or two crushes and romances after that but it was not until my friend, Deb, and I discovered the local boys-only school in the next town that things really took off in that area. It would seem that being able to talk to boys is a commodity that should be very highly prized. The girls from the school across the road from the boys school didn't seem to be terribly competent so the guys just loved us. We began attending their school disco every other week and every other week, I was dating a different lad. There were lots of parties at weekends with lots of booze. I can remember my little sis lying flat on her back on a wet garden lawn having consumed the best part of a bottle of very very cheap whiskey. In retrospect, it was probably horribly dangerous and she could have died. One of us should have put her in the recovery position - if we'd known what it was!

There was lots of canoodling. Guys seemed to be attracted to me in a way that I wasn't quite used to and I never had a shortage of admirers. I permitted some of them to put their hands in my bra - things had filled out a little bit in that area and I was the owner of a couple of very pert B cup boobies which they seemed to enjoy fumbling with. I was, of course, completely unaware of the extent of their complete inexperience in matters sexual. They seemed to know where they should put their hands and their fingers but not quite what it was they were supposed to be doing with them! It was all very unsatisfying and to be honest I wasn't that keen on getting into those sort of situations because it all seemed so pointless.

But I'm not totally criticising the spotty herberts because I had absolutely no idea what I was supposed to be doing with their little willies either. I had absolutely no desire to play with one, although I adored the feeling of a hardening member pressed through jeans against my thigh. I remember one guy took my hand and made me touch it through his trousers. I could feel it throbbing against my hand. He undid his zipper and tried to guide my hand down his trousers against the bare skin but I would have none of it. I wasn't ready for that at all.

Naturally I acquired a reputation as a tease but that didn't stop them trying to persuade me to go further. Alcohol was my number one enemy. We all over-indulged. We were only 15 but off licenses were not as strict as they are today and it was very easy to buy beer or spirits - vodka or bacardi being my drinks of choice. We could all get served in pubs too and spent most evenings at our local. I can remember my sister being asked to join the ladies darts team because she was so good. They were a bit shocked when she had to decline because she was only 13 and wouldn't be able to get to the away matches because she had to get up for school the following morning!

Things came to a head for me at a party where I got absolutely ratarsed. I can remember going upstairs to use the toilet. The next thing I remember, I was lying on a bed and someone was lying on top of me. He was the roughest, toughest lad that all the guys looked up to. He was always fighting and in trouble but with his long blonde hair, pierced ear and tattoos, most of the girls had a thing for him. For all his roughness, he wasn't the sort of guy who would just jump a girl, he had a sort of code of honour about him, so I suppose that we must have engaged in some sort of interaction prior to me waking up with him on top of me, but I have no memory of it. He was kissing my neck, grabbing my boobs and wrestling with the zipper of my trousers and I seemed completely powerless to stop it, even if I had wanted to - which I don't think I did.

The only thing that enables me to say that technically I remained a virgin was that I had my period and so the hole was stoppered by a Super Tampax, a fact that, in his drunken state, he couldn't seem to come to terms with. To be honest, I'm pretty sure he was still a virgin too because he didn't really seem to have a clue what he was doing - even less of an idea than the other spotty herberts with their fumbling, probing fingers - and I certainly wasn't in any condition to verbalise what the problem was! He tried manfully to penetrate the opening but was unable to get more than an inch inside me because of the obstruction. Afterwards, he told me I was now his girlfriend and he took my number so he could call me. It later transpired that he had had a crush on me for some time but, being a bloke of a certain age, had no idea how to communicate that to me. We dated on and off for about a year until he found a girl he could actually physically have sex with.

One bloke who was able to tell me how much he loved me actually asked me to marry him. We were both 15! 'The Girl of my Best Friend' by Elvis and 'Young Hearts Run Free' by Candi Staton were our songs and I still smile when I hear them today. It's probably worth mentioning that I had to decline his kind offer when we were all told later that evening that his 14-year-old ex-girlfriend was six months pregnant. She had been in denial and it was discovered only when her mother realised that she was safety-pinning her school trousers across the zipper to hold them together. Poor girl. She had the baby and they married after leaving school and lived miserably together for the next few years.

I became aware of the problems in my parents' marriage around this time. They were always arguing and I could hear them in bed. My father obviously trying to persuade her to have sex and my mother forcefully voicing her negative. Dad was always very affectionate with his girls and I think he used to hug my mum and kiss her cheek but he had alcohol issues. He wasn't an alcoholic but social enjoyment to him has always revolved around having a drink. He couldn't get past 11am without having to have a pint. I can vividly recall family holidays as kids where we would be in the car with a pineapple juice and packet of crisps each and my parents were having a pint and a 'morning coffee'. My poor dad used to have to scour the countryside's pubs hunting for a sign that offered 'morning coffee' before he could stop for his pint. My mum grew to resent his beer consumption, the money it cost and the frequent times he returned home from work late because he had to 'entertain clients'. I can still recall the odour of his suits when he returned home from work. A not unpleasant smell redolent of beer, cigarettes and newspaper print from the evening paper.

I was still a pretty, outgoing, relatively confident, popular girl but the combination of the strains of my GCEs, the obvious problems within my parents' marriage and a house move away from the security of the home and neighbourhood we had grown up in were all contributing factors to my eating problems which, by the time my mother left when I was 17, had deteriorated into a serious disorder involving bouts of both bulimia and anorexia...

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